Evidence that James Scott was Lynched for a Crime He Did Not Commit

I have just posted as a separate page on this blog the text of a talk I gave in January at the State Historical Society of Missouri. If you are reading this note from my Amazon author page, clicking on the title of this post will get you to http://DGHunt.blogspot.com. Once there, you should find a link to the Evidence lecture in the right hand column.
     Because some people may be more inclined to read the lecture on their Kindles, I will also post the lecture as a Kindle book at the minimal price of 99 cents.

Making contact with the family of a hero

Readers of Summary Justice will remember Charles Nutter, the 20-year-old journalism student who stayed next to James Scott during the dreadful hour when Scott was marched to Stewart Bridge and lynched. Nutter is high on my list of unsung heroes. He pleaded with the mob that night, trying to save Scott's life. He then reported honestly on what he saw in articles in the Columbia Missourian; and at the trial of George Barkwell (a leader of the mob) he gave firm, courageous testimony. He was thoroughly hated by many Columbians for this good behavior and was undoubtedly in physical danger.

As a member of the James T. Scott Monument Committee, I've been searching for Nutter's descendants, hoping to find one who could be publicly thanked and recognized for what Nutter did back in 1923. Last night I had the pleasure of talking with Charles W. Nutter, Charles P's son. It was a remarkable conversation for several reasons. Charles P. Nutter didn't discuss the Scott lynching with his family, and Charles W. knew about it chiefly through a single newspaper article that tells only a fragment of the story. He was pleased to hear that we would be able to flesh out the picture for him, and pleased that his father would be recognized for his character and courage. But Charles W. could tell me a good deal I didn't know about his father's courage in later life. He told me about a confrontation with Joseph Stalin and a meeting with Agosto Sandino, godfather of the Sandinista movement.

Charles W. is now trying to rearrange his schedule so that he can come to the April 30 event where his father will be recognized and a proper monument will be placed on Scott's grave. I am keeping my fingers crossed.

Is this a job? A hobby? Volunteer work?

In 2005, for reasons that defy rational examination, I left a tenured job in the English department at the University of Missouri. For a time after that I attempted to balance a serious bit of volunteer work (tutoring African refugees in English) with writing. Gradually it became clear that I hadn't the kind of brain that would allow me to do both well, and so I went over to writing, essentially as if it were a full-time job.

Now, like many self-publishing writers, I wonder where I am. I am selling some books--let's say about one a day on average--almost enough to buy my own lunch, though not enough to treat someone else. Allowing for the time already spent in research and writing, I suppose I might be making a dime or so an hour. This doesn't sound like a job. It might be a hobby.

On the other hand, the work serves a social purpose. Summary Justice is contributing to a reconsideration of the history race relations in Columbia, and Watching the Watchers may be having a faint influence on discussions about law enforcement and race. So maybe this is volunteer work after all, though my conscience won't allow me to say that it is as important as the ESL tutoring I did before or nearly as important as the work of many other volunteers around town.

The closest analogy I can find at this moment to what I'm doing is the non-profit organization where workers earn below-market wages, but further social causes. My wages are considerably below even "below-market" wages, but that's fine. And even if it weren't fine, I almost feel I wouldn't have any choice. At this point, it feels like a compulsion.

Brushwood 1919-1940 on Kindle

I have recently been talking with a 92-year-old Columbian named Mack Brushwood about what the town was like when he was growing up. These were the days when automobiles were novelties, electricity was available only in the downtown area, and a front porch with a battery-powered radio could attract a clutch of neighbors on a Saturday night. Mr. Brushwood is such a good talker that I decided to rework the interview material into a memoir and post it as a short Kindle book. It's nothing fancy: just a "being there" picture of the prohibition and Great Depression eras.

The Perils and Pleasures of Writing Local History

I answered the phone yesterday and got the voice of a woman who started right in. "I read your book. Liked it. I have a couple of questions. How did Regina Almstedt pronounce her name? Which house did she lived in? Are you sure she was raped? I hated your cover. You should have had a picture of the bridge. Why would you use that picture on the cover? What does it have to do with anything?" She paused for a breath, and something that resembled a normal conversation followed. She told me that she believed that she was living in the house the Almstedts lived in back in 1923. She said she would be at a talk I am giving next week, but that she didn't want me to mention that she lived in the old Almstedt place. That was between us, a secret.

No problem, since she hung up without mentioning her name.

Names, another Kindle booklet

I just posted "Names," a new Kindle booklet. It tells a story I have been researching and mulling over for several years, the miraculous escape from slavery of a young man here in Columbia in 1833. I won't spoil the story by giving away the plot, but I will say that the circumstances of Sant's winning his freedom include something that must have looked to him and to others like divine intervention. The booklet also gives what I think is a useful overview of the status of the slave under Missouri law before the horrible Dred Scott decision. 99 cents. Go ahead, make my day!

Richard J. Margolis Award

Miraculously enough, I recently got a call saying that I would be the 2010 recipient of the Richard J. Margolis prize for social justice reporting, which calls for another link:
http://award.margolis.com/

I am now officially a promising new writer at age 61. I think the custom here would be for me to say that I am grateful and humbled. Stunned, actually, is the better word.